


Frustrated

by dansunedisco



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing, Tropes, in which i play fast & loose with the regency era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: “We are well enough alone, sir,” she said. She felt wicked saying such a thing, as no small part of the affair was her doing.-Or: On the cliffs before their kiss, Sidney said he wanted to find a moment alone with Charlotte. He gets rather more than he bargained for.A sort-of canon-compliant take on the 'secret relationship' and 'teach me how to kiss' tropes in the backdrop of a historical romance.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 122
Kudos: 261





	1. Trafalgar House

**Author's Note:**

> You know those fics that are like 'teach me how to kiss & have sex' with a dash of 'but we gotta keep this a secret'?
> 
> Here is my Sidlotte ~historical romance/bodice ripper~ take on those tropes.
> 
> [moodboard](https://www.pinterest.com/babsontime/frustrated-%2B-sidlotte-moodboard/)

The kiss began slowly, softly. Sidney caught the edge of her mouth. Tender, open-mouthed kisses peppered down her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He smelled like fresh linen and a hint of cologne. The heat of him was nearly overwhelming. She tipped into him by measures, her body slackening against his strong front. Certainly, this was what young women were warned of and taught to fear. Indeed, all sense of propriety and good sense had been left behind the moment she’d pulled his face down to her own, but the very idea of breaking from him now seemed impossible. 

Butterflies swirled in her stomach. Her fingers twisted desperately into his starched shirt front. Their last kiss on the cliffs had been incredible, but _this_ … She gasped as his lips dragged against hers and the wet touch of his tongue brushed her bottom lip. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she felt aflame; and like an ember, each of his tender touches made her blaze all the brighter. His hand, previously cautiously hovering on her shoulder, slid across to her upper back. She felt the power of him, the flex of his muscles, and realized with a start that he was trembling. Immediately, she understood that he’d meant to follow her lead in this dance, but was no less affected by their proximity than she.

“Sidney,” she said breathlessly. 

“Charlotte,” he responded. He pulled back with a shuddering breath. His hold on her was firm yet gentle; neither coaxing nor intrusive. “Do you wish to stop?”

She swallowed. In theory, she understood what could come next -- young ladies weren’t quite so ill-informed as perhaps their harried governesses wished them to be -- but lack of experience and shyness kept her rooted in place as she considered how to proceed. “Would you think badly of me if I said I did not?”

“I could not. After all, it would be the utmost hypocrisy if I did,” he replied. A knuckle came under her chin and tipped her up. His gaze was intense and searching as he held hers for a long moment. “Do not take this the wrong way, Miss Heywood, but I should take my leave and see myself out at once.”

Even as he said as much, he made no move to do so.

“We are well enough alone, sir,” she said. She felt wicked saying such a thing, as no small part of the affair was her doing. Tom had taken the carriage and the footmen with him to London and was scheduled to return in three days’ time. Mary and the children were at the beach with Nanny alongside to tend them. Cook was on leave visiting family a parish over. A feigned headache from Charlotte had solidified the deception. Indeed, Trafalgar House was empty, save for two intertwined souls.

“At any moment someone may call,” he said. He brushed his lips against her brow and held her all the closer. It seemed as if the ruinous moment between them did not displease him completely; in fact, Charlotte was beginning to suspect the idea was a point of enticement.

“It would be very presumptuous of them to see themselves into the parlor room without leave,” she said. “Completely against propriety and decorum. They would be obliged to keep silent on what they would see lest they never be allowed to call on anyone ever again.”

An amused smirk twitched at Sidney’s lips. “Darling, what they would stumble upon is precisely what _would_ invite them into every parlor room in London.”

“I can’t say I understand.” A burning flush crept across her cheeks. She felt deliciously light-headed from their banter, as if she’d drunk a glass of wine. “Perhaps you should demonstrate what might captivate our audience?”

Sidney groaned as if hit. “Pray, do not tempt me.”

“Then unhand me.” Her stare was unwavering. She counted three breaths between them both yet he did not yield to her request. Courage unlike anything she’d ever felt hooked into her and would not let go. Heart racing wildly, she pressed up on her toes and caught his mouth in a chaste, dry kiss. She relished the way he swayed to chase her descent, dark eyelashes fluttering closed. From the start, she’d thought Sidney was seducing her -- but she was beginning to suspect the reverse was instead true. Whatever she wanted would be hers, if only she asked. “You can’t let me go, can you?”

“Now that you’ve been in my arms, I confess no idea has ever held less appeal.” His cheek muscle ticked. “I never professed to be an unselfish man, Charlotte… and the ways I want you are innumerable.”

The timbre of his voice, so low and soothing, made her shudder. “Show me,” she sighed. “Please.”

Like a river rushing with fresh snowmelt, Sidney’s resolved crumbled completely, and they moved to the couch in a flurry of movement. Slow, sweet kisses were no longer. Charlotte raked her fingers through Sidney’s hair, fingertips urging him to deepen the kiss. She opened to him easily and took wordless direction as he tilted and tipped her this way and that; soon, she found herself sitting fully in his lap. She broke off with a gasp as her skirts tangled her legs, and quickly solved the problem by hiking her skirts up and sitting astride him.

“Charlotte--” he choked out. His palms came down atop her bare thighs. “You--”

“I couldn’t find my stockings and decided to forego them,” she explained shyly. It was shocking how easily she confessed. “Does it not please you, sir?”

He surged against her, dragging her down into another possessive kiss. One hand looped around her waist and settled against her lower back. A definitive hardness pressed against her stomach. Even if he denied it, even if he stopped kissing her now, there was no way to hide the evidence of his physical reaction to her. He nipped her bottom lip. “You’re much too good at this game, Miss Heywood,” he said. His chest rose and fell rapidly against her own. “I am becoming suspicious.”

She inched forward on her knees and sat more fully against him. The hardness notched at something at her center she’d only ever dared touched in the dark privacy of her own room, and a swell of fleeting pleasure tickled up her spine. Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed.

He groaned again. “God be good. She’s a seductress and a virgin.”

She rolled her hips; a small, searching movement. It felt divine, but the more she chased after the feeling, the more elusive it became. She panted at the effort and frustration. “Can a woman not be both?”

“Rarely.” His tone was wry. “But I am immensely pleased to be in such choice company.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“If I were teasing, you would _definitely_ know.”

“What do you--”

Her question was crushed by a languid kiss, and she lost herself against him yet again. Time slowed and disappeared altogether. It could have been a minute or forever before they parted again. This time, Sidney settled his hands on either side of her hips and moved her in counterpoint to him. She whimpered as a scalding heat spread through her middle, and she collapsed against his chest, a passenger to his ministrations. Words were whispered in her ear, filthy things and sweet things, and she could only drag her lips against the bristle of Sidney’s cheek in response. As his harsh, panting breaths puffed against her cheek, she knew she wanted more; that this moment between them would not be enough, just as she knew that they were racing towards a line from which they could not return if crossed. It was little wonder Hades wanted of Persephone or that wars were fought for Helen of Troy. Such exquisite pleasure could wreck entire worlds.

Sitting up, she examined the man beneath her as he stilled both their movements. Her heart squeezed. His color was heightened, blotchy red creeping down his neck and into his loosened cravat. Pupils blown wide and black. Hair mussed. Lips pink and pillowy from kissing. As she smiled, he answered with one in-kind, and a silly giggle bubbled out of her throat. “You look positively debauched,” she teased.

“I _feel_ debauched.” He swept a wave of her hair over her shoulder. “I wish you could see yourself. How I see you in this moment exactly. You’re radiant.”

“It’s the exertion.” She bit her lip, suddenly serious. “Sidney…”

His thumbs made circles on her hips. “Yes?”

“Will you touch me?”

His playful look darkened. “I am touching you.”

He was teasing again, but this time Charlotte was fortified. She took his hand before she lost her nerve and brought it between her legs, trembling and gasping as he hissed out a string of curses likely learned at sea. She felt the partition of her underclothes parted, and then the intrusion of a blunt finger gliding between her folds. She sucked in a breath, suddenly and viscerally aware of her own slippery wetness as Sidney teased her.

“I’m--” She shuddered, her hands gripping his shoulders in a bruising hold. “I’m wet.”

He cursed again. “How can you… God, how can you say such things and not _know?_ ”

A hitching moan escaped her, no longer caring to speak or think as he worked her cleverly; he found the swollen bud at the cleft of her, and dragged his thumb in circular motions, slow, then quick, back and forth and up and down; repetitions that had her toes curling and body quivering. He worked her higher and higher, until she was rolling and pushing her hips in tandem with the movement of his fingers. Another blunt intrusion slid between her legs. After a moment of cautious probing, she felt something enter her -- a finger, her mind supplied. She cried out. A burning pinch bit at her and her inner walls clenched down against him, but his thumb at her bud and the gentle rocking motions inside her set off a cresting wave of pleasure she’d never before felt. It drew up her entire body, twisting and tightening all her muscle and sinew, and wrung her out completely as it set her adrift.

Against all reason, the climax merely wound her up even more. Shaking, she scrambled to divest him of his shirt, desperate to feel his hot skin under her palms. She expected protests or halting hands, but soon Sidney’s shirt front was open and his throat bare. Even as he’d just been inside of her, seeing the curl of hair on his chest and below his belly button made her swollen flesh throb like nothing else. She drew her hands across the expanse of his exposed chest and down his stomach to feel the rippling muscle beneath. It was no secret he was an accomplished sportsman. Even if she hadn’t stumbled upon his swim in the Sanditon sea all so long ago, it was no secret that he was well-developed and enjoyed exercise. He was exceptional in every way, and the idea that he was _hers_ \-- even if only for now -- made her breath catch.

He cradled her face and brought her down for a settling kiss. “What is it, my love?”

She ignored the endearment. “I want to make you feel good. Just as you’ve done for me.”

“If I were to die right this very moment, you would be obliged to mark my epitaph as ‘expired as the happiest man on Earth’. Promise me that.”

“I said no more teasing.” She pinched his side, smiling despite herself. She’d always thought the act of love-making would be a very serious affair, but the playful manner in which Sidney conducted himself in certain moments was quite pleasing as well. “Tell me how.”

He kissed her again; her mouth, her cheek, her brow. “If you insist, Charlotte... but if we continue on as we are, we _will_ be intruded upon. I’ve already overstayed beyond all measurable sense.”

Though she wanted to protest, Sidney had the right of it -- even though Trafalgar House _was_ a Parker home, one whisper on the wind that all the servants and family were absent while both Charlotte and he remained inside unattended… It was guaranteed ruin, and she would bear the brunt of the shame. A woman in the world had little in the way of her own economy, but a woman of ill-repute had nothing at all.

“Perhaps tomorrow, then,” she suggested. She slid off him to sit on the couch. The distance between them helped her think. “We could meet again.”

He brought her hand to the face of his side; a tender motion made all the sweeter as he pressed a kiss to the pulse point at her wrist. “Trafalgar House again?”

She shook her head; _no._ “Your brother returns soon, and I’m loath to lie to Mary and the children again to escape the beach… even if it’s for a very satisfying rendezvous.”

They shared a look: him, clearly pleased with himself; her, pliant enough to allow it.

“The cove where you first saw all of me,” he offered, after a moment.

She laughed lightly. “A Sanditon attraction only known by locals.”

“Not yet spoiled by perverse vacationers and their ilk. Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”


	2. The Cove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter, and so soon? who am i?

Sidney fled Trafalgar House before he could do any more damage -- or take further liberties -- and proceeded directly to his room at the Crown. The Prince Regent himself could have paraded naked down the thoroughfare, and he would have been none the wiser. 

He handled his throbbing problem as soon as he crossed the room’s threshold, undoing the required buttons to his trousers to reveal himself and no more before. He spent quicker than a green boy, eyes clenched shut. For the rest of his life, the vision of Charlotte’s face contorted in ecstasy would be burned into his eyelids.

As he cleaned himself up and the heat in his blood abated, rational thought finally presented itself. Unfortunately, it was many hours too late.

He was a damned fool.

Over the years, he’d been tempted and given into his desires more than once. He had no pretenses as to how he indulged himself. He had the means to do so, and so he did. Among his vices, he gambled, he drank, he boxed and he _fucked._ He would not apologize for his tastes. But, looking at his reflection in the burnished looking glass above his spit sink, he _could_ feel bad for how he’d handled Charlotte Heywood. The last time he had taken a woman’s virtue was when he, too, still had a shine of innocence about him. She’d deserved better: lush pillows, silk sheets and soft flickering candlelight. Not a tumble on the closest settee with her skirts hiked up over her hips.

He should have refused her attention. Despite having kissed her on the cliffs, being caught alone with one another at Trafalgar House was another matter entirely. It would have been a true disaster; one with a singular contingency plan. Though he, of course, would have taken the honorable course and immediately secured her hand, the stain on her reputation would have set in for years. No one would call on Mrs. Charlotte Parker or invite her to their fancy supper-parties if she earned the name in such a fashion. The world was cruel. All the more to young, unmarried women. That was why he should have put an end to this dalliance. Given her a moment of pleasure to remember him by, if that was how they would end, and pretended he was a gentleman from there on after… but instead, he’d agreed to meet her again on the morrow.

He huffed a sardonic laugh and hung his head. From the moment they’d met, their attraction had been like magnets -- similar poles warring with one another, refusing to meet, until suddenly the gravity between them was inescapable. Was it her unflappable will? Her kind, tender heart? Or was it her ability to tear the scab off his wounds? No one dared to remind him of his own faults except her. No one dared tell him he could _be_ so much better, either. That he could be _good._

He wanted her beyond all sense; her kiss, her touch, her body and her mind. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he knew it would never truly be enough. For that simple fact alone, he should have refused her. Tomorrow, he should avoid the cove at all costs… but damn him, if she was offering, he was not yet man enough to decline.

  
  
  
  


The hour was chosen for discretion. Late enough that the idea of a beachside walk in the winds would be unpleasant for most, yet not so late as to arouse suspicion to see a young woman walking alongside the cliffs unattended. Charlotte had been mindful of it.

Like her father had warned her, Sanditon was different. Normal rules of polite society did not always apply; or, rather, that the people who _should_ have been following said rules simply did not care to ascribe to them. Only with close family acquaintances had she never been left alone with the opposite gender, but Tom Parker’s little seaside town had thrown her together and unattended with many unmarried gentlemen. It had felt liberating. To speak frankly and openly was new, as was their apparent acceptance of her opinions. Young women indeed were not expected to _think;_ only to be seen and not heard, unless called forth to rattle off some such witty retort, or sing, or play the pianoforte, or offer her hand up in marriage if the prospect pleased her family well enough.

While she’d always considered herself an obedient daughter, it did not go unnoticed by her that, while she indeed lacked worldly experience, she did _not_ lack fortitude or ideals. Her eldest brother often said that Charlotte would have been a great poet or a philosopher if she’d simply been born a Charles -- and it was that very statement that rankled. She wanted to taste the world… but she didn’t want to _need_ a man to make it come to fruition. Despite Lady Denham’s fervent belief that the only reason a young woman could ever leave the bounds of her village was in search of a rich man to land, Charlotte was not yet convinced of the notion. 

Of course, her convictions meant very little as she presently found herself clambering down a rocky slope to meet with Sidney Parker to do more than talk.

Shoving thoughts of matrimony aside, her stomach fluttered with excitement. Yesterday had been… incredible. All the rest of the afternoon after Sidney departed had felt like a hazy dream. She spent dinner pushing around her soup much to Mary’s concern. Sleep had been futile, and the way the hours ticked slowly by as she waited to leave for her solitary evening stroll felt like a cruel jest. But all semblance of tiredness had fled her as she’d eclipsed the hill and made her way down to the sandy shoal where she’d first encountered Sidney in all his naked glory.

The beach was empty as she arrived. She scanned the rocks to find nothing out of the ordinary; no clothes or tracks to mark that Sidney had come through. Just as she was beginning to doubt the entire enterprise, she saw him. He carried with him a wicker basket, and raised his free hand in greeting. As he approached, the butterflies in her stomach made wicked speed and she clutched her hands together so as to quell their trembling. He affected her so easily, so quickly.

“Miss Heywood,” he said in greeting. 

“Mr. Parker,” she returned. Her voice wavered.

He quickly closed the respectful distance between them until only a small gap remained and Charlotte was obliged to tip her head back to look up at him. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, and she felt as eager as a kitten as she leaned into his touch. He was deliciously warm.

“I must confess, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all day; even if only to put myself out of my own misery,” he said. “Sleep was fitful, and it was only by the grace of God I was not caught under the wheel of a carriage as lost in thought as I’ve been.”

“A lucky fortune indeed,” she said. “I would have been very cross with you if you were late.”

“Even if I were mortally wounded upon a spoke?”

“Especially then.”

He looked as if he were desperately attempting to rein in a smile. “You run a tighter ship than I ever endeavor to sail.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She pressed against him. “A little flogging might do you some good.”

The wicker basket was quickly dispatched in the sand, and Charlotte was swirled up in a bruising kiss. She responded immediately, curling her fingers into his hair, then roving across his shoulders, his neck. Suddenly, he drew away from her with a curse.

“What is it?” she asked, punch-drunk and dazed.

“I brought dessert.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, and stabbed it down toward the basket now sitting a little lopsided on the ground. “And a small bottle of port. I thought we might partake before… we proceed.”

It was a sweet gesture, and not without its merits. She agreed, and helped settle the small square blanket that he’d also brought on a grassy patch above the shoal. Two small crystal glasses joined them on the blanket, and Sidney poured generously. They clinked in a toast.

“Oh.” She licked her lips. “This is delicious.”

“You’ve never-- no, of course you wouldn’t have had port.”

“Young ladies only drink wine, heavily watered,” she said with a put-upon air only the haughtiest of governesses could aspire. She took another sip and said, more soberly this time, “Though I’d wager we would all be much better behaved if this was allowed to be imbibed from time to time.”

“Indeed, the solitary glass of port stands alone as a young ladies best defense against all sorts of vile rakes and nefarious riffraff,” he agreed solemnly. “If only you’d had it. Then you might have avoided me.”

“Rake or riffraff you are neither. Vile and nefarious on the other hand…”

He laughed. “The barb wounds me, miss.”

“I apologize, sir. I forget how my acerbic wit can scald. I do not mean to mistreat you.”

Slowly, his hand came up to her face, and his thumb and forefinger gently gripped her chin. He guided her close; she could smell the sweet waft of liquor on his breath. The kiss was possessive and more sensual than any they’d shared. She gasped against his mouth, marveling at her own responses to him; helpless and wholly in his hold.

“Never apologize, Charlotte,” he breathed. Their lips were still so close as to brush against one another’s. “Especially not to me. You have the right of it… I am vile and nefarious… as are the wicked things I desire to do to you.”

He let her go, and she blinked dazedly up at him. She licked her lips again, her body heating as she tracked his gaze following the movement. “I want to know all of it.”

Their port was summarily forgotten.

  
  
  


If Sidney thought Charlotte fearless holding a bleeding, broken man down as his leg was set, then her damn near ripping his trouser open was a revelation. They had kissed for what felt like hours; he drew it out as long as he dared, until she was a writhing, squirming mass in his arms. When he made a move to touch her, she stayed his hand and demanded he show her exactly what she’d requested the previous day: how to please him.

He was going to Hell for this. He knew it, deep in his bones, because there was simply no chance he would ever ask for forgiveness for this: revealing himself to her; letting her run her cool, slender fingers along his shaft; and sitting back without comment as her pink tongue darted out to lick him as if he were spun of delicate sugar. She looked up at him as she did, brown eyes curious and desperate to know if she made her mark on him yet.

She drew back after a moment. “Am I… I can tell I’m not doing it properly.”

“There is no way to do _it_ correctly,” he said.

“But there’s a way you’d prefer.” Her tone was firm, and when she settled back against his legs, he pressed his thumb at the notch in her jaw. Her mouth opened and she seemed to understand at once what he intended for her to do. She covered him with her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head of his shaft; then, she gave a gentle suck, and the groan that came from him was without artifice. 

Her movements were inexpert, but her enthusiasm was unmatched, and he could tell she was cataloging and studying his reaction to every single thing she tried. Soon enough, he was in a state; foul words, endearments, all wrapped up in the blazing heat of her tongue, her mouth. She bobbed down, her nose bumping in a rhythm against the thatch of curls at the base of him; the wet glide and the image of her moving on him, her watery eyes peering into his soul, brought him all too fast to the edge. 

“Charlotte,” he warned her, “Charlotte, you need to stop--”

She persisted with a determined hum. A tear slipped from her eye and slid down the length of her nose to drop onto him, and that was it. He was destroyed. Even as he came, she continued on; the feel of her swallowing around him setting him firmly on another plane entirely for the duration. He shuddered and spent, and a dim ringing in his ears joined the fray as she very well drank down every last drop of him. 

She sat back on her haunches as he begged for mercy, panting. Her lips were shiny and pink, and her chest strained violently against the square-cut neckline of her dress.

He tucked himself away and sat up, quickly drawing her into a messy kiss. He tasted himself on her tongue and didn’t care how depraved that made him; he wanted all of her, just as she’d taken all of him without question. He switched their positions, guiding her to lay beneath him; he hovered over her, propped up on an elbow.

“Charlotte, you are--” He shook his head; a poor attempt to regain his sense. “No amount of flattery or flowery prose can describe how you’ve made me feel tonight.”

“Then I’ve met my intention; and yours, I hope,” she said; a high flush highlighted her cheeks.

“Exceeded.”

She tipped her chin up, defiant. “Whatever shall be my prize?”

“The sun; the moon; the stars? Name your desire and I shall endeavor to acquire it.”

She covered her laugh with a fist, stifling a girlish laugh behind it. “It would be poor form to aspire so high. I couldn’t possibly steal the stars from the sky or take the moon for myself.”

“Then?” he prompted.

He watched as her color heightened all the more, and her knees shifted restlessly against him. “Will you-- touch me as you did before…?”

Understanding dawned, and they worked in tandem to release her of the confines of her skirts.

Once revealed, he rubbed at the edge of the ribbon keeping her stockings up around her pale thigh; gooseflesh rose before his eyes. It made sense that she wore them -- a quick breeze would have bared her ankle, and more, to all prying eyes if she hadn’t -- but now that her legs were hidden from view, he desperately wished they were not.

He found her wetter than he’d found her even yesterday. He began a slow tease, relishing in the half-lidded gaze Charlotte affixed upon him. “You’re soaked,” he murmured; a prickle of awareness spread across his scalp, knowing that she had become so affected by putting her mouth on him. “Even now, I cannot tell if you are a devil sent from Hell to tempt me to bargain my soul… there is naught I wouldn’t do to you, for you, in this moment…”

She sighed. “You shouldn't say such -- ah! -- blasphemous things, sir.”

His finger entered her, and he curled his finger until he found the spot inside that made her knees fall completely open; she shuddered and cried out, her hand coming up to clutch at his shoulder. Wetness dripped down his fingers, his wrist. He brushed a kiss at her temple; she tasted like the sea; the sound of her like the gently lapping tide.

“No,” he agreed, “you are a siren; a mermaid… a creature I would dive headfirst into the wavebreak for with a smile on my face.”

He could tell she was close with how she trembled and clenched around his finger, and he covered her mouth and muffled her cries, tongue darting in tandem with what he was doing to her between her legs. Suddenly, her back arched and her legs snapped closed around his forearm; the muscles of her inner walls fluttered around his intrusion, and he gentled his ministrations in slow measures. He withdrew from her and indulged in the impulse to draw his finger into his mouth to taste her.

They settle together in the afterglow, Charlotte’s skirts put to rights and her cuddled up against his chest. It was not nearly enough. He wanted her in a bed; her naked form against his own. These half-measures they were playing at barely quenched his thirst and left him hungrier than before.

“Sidney,” she started; she propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him. “Have you ever kept a mistress?”

The question started a quick laugh out of him. “I don’t see how I would have had the time,” he said. “I’m a very busy man -- usually -- and mistresses are notoriously expensive to keep.”

“But you’ve… you’ve known many women, then.”

“Enough, I suppose, to pretend to know what I’m doing.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… I’ve just been thinking-- it is the societal belief that it is of the utmost importance that women maintain their purity. Pure and wholly ignorant to the wants of men. Yet it seems that men are not held to the same standard; that you can indulge your desires as often as you like and never face repercussion or reproach.”

“That is not _entirely_ true,” he said. “But not entirely incorrect either. A notorious rake may eventually slake this amorous appetite and find safe harbor in society, if he were to ‘reform’ -- a title would help him, of course. Yet a woman in the same situation… indeed, she would become a social pariah.”

“It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Nothing ever is, darling.”

She shifted against him. “Take you and I, for example. If we were to be found-- I can’t even imagine what would come next.”

“I could, and it’s the firing end of your father’s pistol.” He squeezed her; a tease. “This is a small consolation to be sure, but rest assured I would do the honorable thing by you. You would be under my protection.”

Her breath hitched. “But you have no intention of marrying otherwise.”

Immediately, he realized he’d misstepped. The implication of a forced marriage to save from ruin was not the romantic impression a young woman desired to hear -- worse yet, the suggestion that the man otherwise would not ask for her hand. “Charlotte--”

“I am not wholly convinced on the subject myself,” she said quickly and with forced cheer. “A spinster could go and do what she pleases, never having to answer to a husband.”

There was no recovering from his verbal blunder, and so Sidney simply held her until the nip in the air forced them to depart from the cove. Together they walked toward Sanditon, and he remained with her for as long as he dared. Eventually, they parted ways so as to play at the decorum they were so clearly flouting. This time Charlotte made no moves to secure another secret meeting from him.

His lonesome walk back to the Crown went slowly by. Ever since his heart had been sorely bruised as a younger man, thoughts of settling down had taken a firm backseat to everything else in his life; business and ambition at the forefront. He’d misspoke tonight, but now Charlotte believed he willingly ravished her and thought of tying himself to her permanently only in the face of pressure.

It was a callous notion; and, the more he spent time with her, a patently untrue one. He wanted her completely.


	3. The Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that awkward moment when you attempt to write a pwp and sneaky plot works its way in :\
> 
> The timeline of this fic is wedged somewhere between the cliffside Sidlotte kiss and before the ball/fire. A bit of a suspension of belief, but hopefully it isn't too far off the mark that it nestles well enough with canon.

Rain came the night of their meeting at the cove and stayed, a grey drizzle that pitter-pattered incessantly at the windows and made it very unappealing to attempt a venture outside. Two days thus passed in a slow, dreary slog. It allowed Charlotte all the time in the world to ruminate and reflect on her behavior.

Where she surely should have conjured up insurmountable guilt, she found but little. Perhaps her own lack of concern should have been the cause of worry. After all, good sense screamed that how she’d conducted herself -- not once, but three times -- with Sidney was wholly _wrong._ Instead, she found herself in a dazed fog of yearning. His touch was missed, certainly; but it was their frank conversation and brisk banter that stood ahead of it all. No man had ever engaged her so. From the first, they’d verbally sparred. Each encounter from then on had felt like a battle in a great war. He’d rebuke her; she’d air his faults; he’d dismiss her; and she’d hold his feet to the flame. Pinpointing exactly where and when animosity had turned passion was elusive, but it had happened all the same.

But that was all it was, wasn’t it? Passion and lust. Though Sidney had meant to comfort her with talk of a protective marriage, the businesslike brusqueness of his tone stung her all the same. The hurt was of her own making, however, so she could not fault him as its cause. Talk of consequences courted sensible responses, and indeed it _was_ a consolation to know Sidney would not let her become a fallen woman… but it revealed a stark truth, too. One she was not yet ready to face.

So distracted was she that the sharp point of her embroidery needle pierced the tip of her finger. She sucked in a pained gasp.

“What is it, Charlotte?” asked Mary, concerned. Her own embroidery laid in her lap.

She raised her abused appendage to eye level for inspection. Bright red blood welled up. If she were home, she’d wipe the mess away on her apron, or pop the finger in her mouth to staunch its flow. Here, she could do neither. “Just a novice nick.” 

Mary tutted, and handed her a sturdily stitched handkerchief which she accepted with a murmur of thanks.

“You’ve been distracted all day,” said Mary, after a long moment. “Yesterday, too. And the day previous you’d been ill with a headache. I do not mean to pry, but-- as a friend, I am here to listen. Is all well at home?”

“Quite well. My sister Alison writes that my youngest siblings have been sprouted up like weeds overnight.” She wrapped the fabric about her throbbing finger. “All the Heywoods are all very eager to visit Sanditon when they are permitted.”

“Mr. Parker will be delighted to hear Sanditon is so well regarded.” Mary set her embroidery loop aside. “If not your family, then... Are _you_ well, Charlotte? Are you unhappy? I understand there is some homesickness to be had in these cases. As a young girl, I traveled with my aunt and uncle to the Continent. While the trip was extraordinary, I found myself fiercely missing home after some time...”

Now, the guilt arose; a fresh, unwanted feeling. Looking at Mary, Charlotte realized with icy dread that while both she and Sidney would be in a world of disaster if they were to be found out, Mary and Mr. Tom Parker would be held accountable as well. She swallowed thickly. “That must be it,” she said. “But please, Mary, know that I am _forever_ grateful for your family’s kindness and generosity in opening your home to me.”

“Think nothing of it. You have been a wonderful guest. The children adore you, as do I.” Mary’s hand came to cover Charlotte’s with a friendly, maternal squeeze. She sighed a little. “You do not have to tell me all that is on your mind, my dear. It is the nature of man to desire privacy, from time to time. But trust that I am here to listen if you wish to speak, no matter what it may concern.”

  
  
  


The rain soon broke and on its tail came a heatwave. Tom returned from London on time to usher in the good weather, and heartily swept the entire clan of Parkers to the beach -- even Arthur and Diana were persuaded to come, advised by Dr. Fuchs to enjoy the dry heat as one of their treatments. Charlotte strongly believed the good doctor simply needed a break from them both asking questions on any little ache or ailment that presented itself.

Indeed, getting out of Trafalgar House and into the sunshine was a good distraction. Charlotte lazed under the cover of a well-made beach tent and watched beachgoers come and go. The heat seeped into her bones and sweat beaded on her upper lip. As always, the bathing machines were a hit, and curious children made their way down the wet edge of the ocean, plucking sea biscuits and shells from the sand. 

A new shadow eclipsed her view. Even without introduction, she knew immediately who it was. 

“Miss Heywood,” said Sidney. He stood to her side at a respectful distance. “Good day.”

She tipped her head back to look at him, shading her brow with the edge of her hand. Her stomach fluttered in traitorous glee. “Well-met, Mr. Parker.”

“May I join you?”

They were in full view of the beach, and in a tent meant to be shared by the Parker brood and their guests, regardless of gender. It was perfectly acceptable to be seen with one another here. She nodded her acceptance. “Of course. Please.”

He took a seat in the chair next to hers. After a moment, he knocked the edge of his shoe against hers; and when she turned her attention to him, she was greeted with a small and playful smile. She had resolved to be strong in the face of him. That although they had shared several intimate moments, there was no promise from either party to continue going on such as they’d been. But emotion rarely followed the rules of logic, and proximity to him chased good sense off entirely. Her will crumbled as easily as a sandcastle in the tide. 

For all Sidney’s faults, she knew he could be disarmingly charming when he chose to be -- and the power he held over became all the more apparent as all it took was a smile for her to fall back under his thrall.

“I’m glad to see you survived Sanditon’s latest deluge,” he said. “I was afraid you’d be tempted to rejoin the mermaids.”

If she weren’t already flushed from the heat, the reference would have turned her red. “Then I’m happy to tell you I am not so easily tempted.”

“You are in error, miss. It rather displeases me.” Another touch from his shoe came, but soon enough his playful nature disappeared. His relaxed posture straightened, as if a string from the top of his head had been pulled upright. He took a short, bracing breath and turned to her. “Charlotte, I must apologize for yesterday. I was indelicate in speaking. My only excuse is being swept away by passion, and it’s a sorry one at that. You surprise me at every turn, and for a moment, I forgot myself. I did not mean to diminish the severity of my conduct, or imply that you didn’t deserve… more.”

He held her gaze, and she remained breathlessly unable to respond. 

“You are right not to forgive me,” he said. It seemed he was ready to take his leave after saying his piece, but her hand acted on its own accord, and she placed it squarely on his. He looked surprised, and she understood he meant his words truly, and not in some act of guilty manipulation.

“I courted it, Sidney,” she said. “Bare questions earn bare responses.”

“I disagree. You were right to question my intentions. If you hadn’t, I may have fallen on the folly that begets many a man, which is to not think of them at all.” 

He turned his wrist so that they came palm-to-palm. His hands were so much bigger than hers and surprisingly calloused, as if he were a working man and not in leisurely business. She withdrew from the touch slowly, fingertips grazing his warm skin as she went.

Her gaze dropped away from his, suddenly shy and nervous. “And what are your intentions, sir?” 

“Let me tell you in proper time, Charlotte,” he said, voice low, “in a proper place for the occasion.”

“If you insist,” she demurred. Outwardly, she tried to maintain a semblance of good form. Inwardly, however, her heart raced wildly. She wanted nothing more than to lean across the space between them and take his face into her hands. She said as much, which earned her a short laugh in response.

“I sorely wish to let you,” Sidney said, “but it’s best if we do not brazenly tempt a scandal today. With that said… the thought of absconding away with you to the privacy of a bathing machine has crossed my mind a time or three.”

“The attendants would be very shocked.” She pressed her lips to keep from laughing. “Perhaps you should take a plunge in the cold waters to settle your constitution.”

“Very wise counsel.” He sat back and regarded her with no little amount of heat. “But I will need to give myself a few moments, it seems.”

Charlotte’s cheeks burned at the implication, and she fervently prayed for patience.


	4. Field of Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, folks. we're back to our regularly scheduled programming ;)

Patience did not come.

While Charlotte and Sidney had both agreed at the beach to remain perfectly civil and respectably distant, it seemed they both were intent on burning their promises to the ground. The next day found them both conspicuously alone in the park walking gardens. They greeted one another with an air of surprise, a gentlemanly arm was offered and taken, and they soon found themselves traveling deeper and deeper into the forest afield.

“I wish I could say I am not pleased at meeting you as I did,” said Charlotte, breaking the affable yet charged silence. She turned a shy smile up at him. Her blood was rushing in her ears, her pulse jumping in her throat. The feeling of wickedness that had guided her that day in Trafalgar House and the cove had returned, pushing aside all common sense. Anyone could come upon them. She did not want to know what it said about her character that the thought of being caught excited her as much as it frightened her.

“What a happy coincidence,” he murmured. “But there may have been a series of probing questions as to your whereabouts when I called on Trafalgar House earlier today…”

She laughed brightly.

“I hoped you would find my company agreeable,” he continued.

“It is. More than.”

And it was. They talked breezily for a while; Sidney recounted how he’d spent his two days of rain writing and posting correspondence at alarming speed as he conducted business from his private room at the Crown. She learned he had stock in the steelworks, among other things, and bought heartily in the idea of locomotive travel as a way of the future. Imagining Sidney in the very circle of London Society was easy; he spoke fluidly and smartly on each subject, and before long she, too, believed his idea of a connecting railway would become a massive success.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood?”

“I’m merely taking it all in,” she replied. “Your railway. Your passion on the subject is inspiring. I’m glad to witness it.”

“You tease me.”

“I do not! You are--” A fluttering feeling swirled in her stomach. “More than I imagined. Do you believe in fate, Sidney?”

“Not particularly. I have some superstitious leanings, thanks to my time at-sea. You wouldn’t believe the portents observed.”

“Such as?”

“‘Red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’”

“Oh, but that could be a very beautiful sunset!”

“Or a black mark on the day to come,” he said. “Whistling is frowned upon as well.”

“Is that why you don’t partake in the act?”

“My feet are very well planted on _terra firma_ , miss. I won’t fear sea-faring gods of wind when I am so far inland.”

“How brave.”

“Ah. Now you tease.”

“It can’t be helped.”

He glanced at her. “Fate, then. Why do you ask if I’m a believer?”

She pondered over her response for a moment. “The day your brother and Mary came through Willingden… it was absolutely possible our paths could have diverged from what came to be. Perhaps my siblings and I would not have followed the rabbit to the hillside; perhaps the driver of the carriage would have taken the track at a slower clip. If either had happened, I never would have found myself as a guest in Sanditon… and I never would have met you.”

“And I suppose I could have remained in London on business instead of heeding Tom’s request to bring gentlemen to the slaughter, or… my ship returning from the West Indies could have foundered at the behest of a whistle or a red sky. Life is fleeting indeed.”

“I think so. I am of the belief that every moment should be cherished,” she said. “It is what gives me courage. I know-- I know the world is a lot wider than I can possibly imagine, but I wish to see it. I wish to be _in_ it. Perhaps my mark would be more easily made if I were-- if I were a man, but…”

“Oh Charlotte,” he murmured. They came to a stop, and he turned to her. The woods around them were not terribly dense, but the boughs of the trees overhead gave them a semblance of shade. “You’ve certainly left your mark on me.”

The kiss that followed was sweet, and her knees went weak as they shared a small, tender smile at the parting. It felt impossible to feel so strongly for him already, but the golden glow in her heart was inescapable. She wanted him wholly and completely, and to give herself to him in the same manner.

  
  
  


They walked in silence. Soon enough the trees gave way to a clearing. Summer flowers stood in bloom, petals fluttering as they danced in the gentle breeze. A delicate perfume scented the air, a sweetness contrasted with the wild woods and loam underfoot. There were all colors among verdant green; blue and purple and yellow. She recognized cornflower and forget-me-nots, and a patch of brilliant kingcup.

“Did you know this was here?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”

He made a kingcup a home behind her ear. “All the more beautiful with your added presence. You look like a wood nymph.”

“You tell that to all the nymphs.”

He cupped the back of her head and brought her into another kiss, mindful of the flower. “When we were young, we Parkers boys explored all the woods of Sanditon; the ponds; the rivers; the cliffs and the dales. I would swear there is not a speck of dirt unfamiliar to our inspection.”

She pressed into him. “It’s strange you say so. You often conducted yourself as if you viewed Sanditon and your place here as the greatest imposition.”

“My impression was that there was nothing for me here anymore. My ambitions had taken me across the world, after all. I could not have been more wrong.” He kissed her again. “My affection was clouded by past hurts. Indeed, it took viewing it from someone else’s eyes to again see its true merits…”

She shuddered in his hold.

They made camp in a lush patch of grass, but not before Sidney helped Charlotte out of her spencer and unlaced the back of her dress. It would not have done to stain or dirty the fabric overmuch; and it was with practically that she folded it up and placed it atop a warm rock.

Never before had she been so underdressed in front of a man. It felt shocking and unusual, but the execution of the concept felt more tantalizing than embarrassing, and Sidney quickly leveled the playing field by removing his coat and his cravat. It was another level of intimacy reached; another point of no return she’d leapt across without hesitation. There was no sense to be had in any of it, except the primal urge for it to be done.

She laid in his arms, head pillowed comfortably on his chest; their legs entangled. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm; feel the rhythmic swell of his breaths; smell the scent of him, absorb the heat of him. He felt so sturdy and so strong. Need crawled up her spine, a vibrating desire to proceed, and so she anchored herself up and over him; without a word, she tipped her head down to kiss the tender skin at his throat. His hands encircled her waist, fingers squeezing as she laid open-mouthed kisses to his exposed skin.

“Charlotte,” he hissed.

She continued on, fortified by the familiar feel of his growing hardness against her hip. “Sidney.”

“Say it again.”

“ _Sidney_.”

He groaned in response.

Sliding down his body was easy, and taking him in her mouth was exquisite. Watching his muscles tense in response to her actions gave her a heady sense of power; scalp prickling and body vibrating as she watched him make small, sharp, desperate movements. She teased him with her tongue and her fingers, and this time when she thought of Helen and Persephone, she thought of them not as innocent victims but as conquering queens; bringing gods to their knees simply because they could.

When he spent in her mouth, she swallowed him down. The taste was not altogether pleasant, but the way Sidney kissed her afterwards, licking his way into her mouth as if devouring her completely, made the act enjoyable. Quickly, he reversed their positions, hands sliding her chemise up to expose her to him. She moaned as he brushed a gentle finger against her; another he wrenched from her as he discovered her dripping wet. 

He kissed her again, then trailed down her neck, the exposed cut of her chest, the swell of her breast, and she gasped as she realized his descent did not mean to stop. Instinct forced her knees to come together, but Sidney’s shoulders blocked their way, and his warm hands spread them apart.

“Let me,” he said; a kiss to the skin of her inner thigh lingered. “If you do not enjoy it--”

She shouted at the feel of his tongue against her; it was a hot slide that parted her folds, teasing licks interspersed with gentle tension and more urgent sucking. The sound of it was indecent, and she never wanted it to stop. She surged up against his mouth, gasping and trembling and moaning, and it wasn’t long before the cresting rise of her peak floated her up, and up. She came with a soundless scream. She took a breath at its end, expecting Sidney to cease his ministrations, but he continued on with a pleased hum, and she soon found her second peak, and then a third.

He only stopped when she shoved desperately at his forehead, sobbing and unable to string a single word after the other. She whimpered as he drew away, and clenched her eyes shut as tremors continued to wrack her frame.

“I can’t-- I can’t _think_ \--” she gasped. “How is that even _possible?_ ”

“Anatomy,” he replied.

She swatted at his side. A very self-satisfied smirk had made a home on his handsome face. She found she didn’t mind it being there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme tell ya, i barely restrained myself from writing ‘BUT CHARLOTTE SURE DID’ after that opening sentence. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked this one~


	5. The Altered Timeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more or less a v. short drabble that explains eliza and lowkey can be skipped if you don't want to read it 
> 
> ~~with that said, the wedding night is the next chapter which should be posted shortly after i've posted this one.~~
> 
> ~~stylistically, i wanted to keep them separate. please don't kill me :')~~

Time passed as it was wont to do, and, due to a minor yet very impactful change to this particular timeline, the storm that Mrs. Eliza Campion blew over Sanditon came as a drizzle vice thunderous calamity; barely noticed, and easily endured.

Indeed, Mr. Sidney Parker hardly heeded the invasion, so enraptured was he by Miss Charlotte Heywood and she him. Their newfound connection had lent to honesty perhaps best reserved for those already wed, but in this case had revealed Sidney’s past to Charlotte in the whole: the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.

Therefore Eliza’s arrival in Sanditon had come as a surprise, but the nature of Sidney’s past relationship with said woman had not.

It could be said the surprise laid entirely with Mrs. Campion instead, though it did not last long. She was a shrewd woman, of course. She’d caught a fortune at eighteen years and was no stranger to the ways of men and women. She saw how the young lady looked directly in the gentleman’s eyes and not down and demure as she should. She saw the proximity in which they stood, and how where one was, the other was soon to follow.

To be unfair to Mrs. Campion was to paint her entirely as a jealous shrew, but it would also have been unfairly kind to say she’d been patiently pining after a long lost love all these years. Nevertheless -- and against better judgment -- she did scheme, but the tilt of the story did not pass in her favor. As clever as she was, she did not account for Miss Heywood’s good nature nor how she was beloved by all in Sanditon. Its denizens were more than happy to turn a blind eye to the glow of new love rather than listen to the underhanded whispers of a daughter they’d lost a decade passed to the ton.

With nothing left to do, Mrs. Campion boarded a coach and left for a happier summer in Brighton. 

Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood’s announcement of engagement arrived shortly after she did.


	6. Satisfied

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”

For a moment, Charlotte’s heart dropped, but the teasing smile on Georgiana’s face undercut her words. She returned the smile, though hers was decidedly more nervous. She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the front of her dress. Her wedding dress. 

“Neither can I,” she said. “And after all I protested at Lady Denham’s…”

A month had passed since Sidney had proposed to her in nearly the exact same spot where they had first clashed. At the time, she felt the day couldn’t have come any quicker, but the days sped by in rapid fashion, and here they were. 

“I’m sure that dreadful woman is terribly happy to have proved you wrong,” said Georgiana. “There is still time to run away and disappoint her. Say the word and I will drive the horses myself.”

Charlotte laughed gaily at the image conjured: two friends speeding away from the chapel on the hill, a gentleman’s hat atop Georgiana’s head and Charlotte’s wedding dress streaming behind her in the winds. “You are very kind to offer, but I believe I will be able to endure Lady Denham. I am terribly happy.”

Georgiana made a face. “If you say so.”

“I do,” said Charlotte firmly; both to her friend-and-bridesmaid, and in front of the gathered congregation shortly thereafter.

The ceremony went off perfectly, though Tom argued adamantly that a larger party should have been considered for Sanditon’s sake up until the bride began her walk down the aisle and was sufficiently shushed by his own beleaguered wife.

After a chaste kiss, the new Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Parker were formally introduced to hearty cheers, and a happy tear or two slipped down the cheek of the groom. With the help of his dutiful wife, Sidney navigated the Heywood clan. The very end of the procession stood Mr. Heywood, who was delighted to have broken his five-mile radius for the marriage of his eldest daughter.

The afternoon was spent receiving congratulations and giving thanks in a private though no less small reception. They retired as husband and wife after an appropriate time of well-wishing and cake-eating, and, free to lean against one another in the comfort of a closed carriage, did so. 

Despite her protests, Sidney had promised them a proper honeymoon, and they were scheduled to leave in three days’ time. Until then, they kept a suite in the Crown. 

After arranging for a bath and a tray of tea to be brought to their rooms, they ascended the stairs.

“For good luck,” said Sidney once they reached the room’s entrance and quickly swept Charlotte into his arms.

Her arms came around his neck with a surprised gasp. “Mr. Parker!”

“Mrs. Parker,” he replied with a grin.

For a moment, they looked at one another in a way that could only be described as love-sick. 

They went through the threshold for the first time as husband and wife. Sidney set her gently down and dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead. If Charlotte thought he would immediately tear the clothes from her, she was sorely disappointed. Instead, he proceeded to busy himself with ensuring the room was set properly, and directed the maid here and there when she came.

All the while, Charlotte’s heart rapidly picked up speed. She wandered over to the vanity. Her hair comb laid next to his shaving kit. The image was potent. It served as a reminder of their recent union and the years to come. They were here together. A small gold band was on her fourth finger. Her name was Charlotte Parker. She was a married woman. He had promised her forever. It hardly felt real.

If she were honest, there was a small part of her that had never expected Sidney to make her an offer. It was said some gentleman pressed a lady for liberties to determine her character, that an accepted kiss was to lose him forever. But Sidney had never pressured her. She’d given herself to him without qualm, without expectation, and he’d never made her feel bad for it.

She heard the door to the suite open and shut. 

Sidney came to lean against the doorway. “I sent the maid away,” he said, “but I can call her back if you’d like her to help you… get more comfortable.”

Charlotte looked over her shoulder. She wanted to tease him, but the words were trapped in her throat. For all they had done with one another, he had never seen her in the full. There was no reason he shouldn’t like her as she was, but the thought of it -- the chance of it -- had her hesitating.

“I’m told the bride typically suffers cold feet before the ceremony,” he teased. Then, sensing her true distress, he sobered. He quickly ate up the distance between them and took her hands in his. “Dearest Charlotte, forgive me for being indelicate--”

“Sidney, please,” she interrupted, suddenly feeling very silly. “I can’t tell you I’m not nervous, but I’m not _scared_ of you.”

The worried furrow between his brows smoothed out. A small smile played at his mouth. “No, of course not.”

She cleared her throat. “My hesitation is-- is not with what is expected to come next. That is, the consummation.” Her cheeks burned scarlet. She swallowed, and gamely looked him directly in the eyes. “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing all of you, but the reverse can’t be said and… and I’m afraid you will be displeased.”

His fingers squeezed around hers. He laughed a little. “Darling, I promise you have naught to fear on that front.”

“What if I have a mole you didn’t know about?” she asked lightly.

“Then I will come to love that mole more than life itself.”

“And if my little toe is longer than the rest?”

His expression turned very solemn. “I will worship the appendage.”

She bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing, trying -- and failing miserably -- to match his faux seriousness. “Well done, sir. You’ve put me at sufficient ease.”

He kissed her. It was dry and quick, but no less sweet. “Come, before the bathwater cools.” 

He turned her, and with practiced ease, unhooked and unlaced her dress. She submitted to it while keeping her gaze steady on his in the looking mirror. His lips were parted lightly, and the flush on his cheeks was unmistakable. Her knees weakened.

She helped him push her gown down; then, off came her stays and her chemise. Muslin and lace fluttered to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes. All that was left to remove was her silk stockings and the ribboned garters. With a steadying breath, she turned to face him. The desire to cover herself lost to her courage to let him see all of her.

He stared at her brazenly, unashamed and open. He traced her outline from the top of her head down to her toes. As his gaze dragged back up to linger shamelessly on her chest, she arched her back; a noise like he’d been struck escaped him.

His hands encircled her ribcage and his thumb smoothed under the delicate skin of her breast. Skin prickling at his touch, her core turned molten with need. Lungs heaving, body trembling, she dragged him down to her. The kiss sent sparks down her spine, and she twined her fingers through his short-clipped hair, blunt fingernails biting into his scalp as his fingertips molded her body tight against his.

“The bath,” he murmured against her lips, and she desperately wanted to tell him to forget it; to just take her to bed, but he wrenched himself away and led her to the steaming water. 

Dazed, she followed on wobbly legs and laid a hand on his shoulder as he knelt and carefully untied her garters and unrolled her stockings. Toes free, she wiggled them for his benefit, and he gently pinched her pinky toe.

“You had me worried, Mrs. Parker,” he said, then came to a stand. His eyes darkened as he towered over her.

She shivered and leaned into him, fingers grazing the lapels of his waistcoat, but it seemed he could not be swayed from his singular goal of getting her into the bathwater. Using his hand for balance, she stepped into the tub and lowered herself down with a hiss. It was exquisitely hot.

He drew the wooden seat next to the bath and sat. He began to expertly dislodge the pins from her coiffure. They rattled as he dropped them into a pin box, and one by one, the tense ache at her scalp eased. He combed his fingers through her hair as he went, and she sighed, blissfully happy under his ministrations.

“You’re taking very good care of me,” she whispered. The fire in the grate popped and the dull swish of water set an intimate scene, and she didn’t want to disturb the moment.

“I plan on doing this for the rest of my life.” He drew her fingertips across the delicate skin of her upper chest. “I always imagined this is how it would be.”

“Baths?”

He leaned forward and kissed the shell of her ear. “Marriage.”

“Did-- did you know your parents well? Were they happy?”

“As well enough as a child could… and I believe they were, yes.” He paused. “They passed from a fever while I was away in Antigua.”

She couldn’t imagine being so far away. Not being able to say goodbye. “I am sorry.”

“Another one of life’s unfortunate miseries,” he said. “It wasn’t long after I was jilted. To forget the pain I threw myself into my work… I wanted to continue my father’s legacy, I suppose. In time, my ambitions grew ever larger and soon the dream of a little wife in a cottage by the sea seemed small and inconsequential in comparison to what my life had become.”

She turned to look at him. The ends of her hair dipped into the water, but she didn’t care. “And now?”

“For years, I traveled the world. I was restless. Always searching; looking for something I didn’t know I needed, or wanted. Sometimes I think myself incredibly foolish now that I know my heart was here all this time.” His eyes burned into hers. “You’ve brought me home, Charlotte. Wherever you are, I will be.”

A heady swirl of fondness enveloped her, and she couldn’t possibly remain in the tub a second longer. She stood so quickly water sloshed violently over the lip, and she all but launched herself at him. He caught her up in a bruising kiss, and lifted her against him like she weighed naught more than a feather. His clothes were quickly soaked.

“Take me to bed, _please_ ,” she said, and he happily, wordlessly, obliged.

He deposited her on the counterpane and languished desperate kisses along her throat, her jaw, her chest. At the same time, she clawed at his shirtfront, and gave a moaning laugh as she heard a tear. A sad little button hung from a string when he pulled back to assess the damage, but any idea of witty banter was smothered by caresses and kisses. His mouth and hands were too clever, and Charlotte’s mission of divesting him of his clothes was lost to sensation.

His mouth worked at the tips of her breasts, tongue laving and teeth nipping, while his other hand worked her free nipple to a furled peak. Her hands shuffled restlessly; across his shoulders, his head, her head, the sheets. Her thighs rubbed together to seek relief against the stimulation, and soon she was begging for him to give it.

He scattered kisses down her front, and sucked a bruise along her hipbone for the novelty of it. He thumbed the swollen nub at the cleft of her until she was delirious, and then soothed her with his tongue; slow, broad licks, and rapid sucks that had her bucking almost violently against his mouth. The feeling built and built until the crest broke and she cried out her release.

The rustle of clothes woke her from languid satiety, and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. Boots were tossed aside, followed closely after by shirt and trousers.

“I can’t trust you not to tear the stitches apart with your teeth,” he said cheekily. 

Her response was lost seeing him completely naked. At the cove, she’d barely gotten a look; and since then, she’d only seen glimpses of him. But here and now, she saw he was perfect. The curl of hair at his chest; the muscles in his bicep, his forearms. Even his knees and shins were handsome. She bit her lip and giggled.

He arched his eyebrow and stalked towards her, knee dipping between her legs on the bed. “Have a care, Mrs. Parker. A man rarely enjoys the laughter of a woman when he stands naked before her.”

She laid back and pulled him greedily with her. “I was admiring your shins.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.” They were skin to skin now, and she wondered at the feel of him; the rough scratch of his body hair, the hard planes of him pressing to her soft curves. “I am a very lucky woman.”

“What a pair we are,” he murmured.

Time slowed as they kissed, the hurried frenzy of earlier transformed into a slow burn. Her focus narrowed with every touch and every caress until all she knew was Sidney and all the points where they met. It was clear he meant to be gentle and take his time with her, and that he was more than satisfied to follow at whatever pace she set.

It could have been days, hours, or minutes, but when next she next kissed him, it was to impress on him without words that she was ready.

He pulled back; _are you sure?_

She drew her thighs around his hips, breathing tattered and gasping as she felt his hardness slip between her folds; _yes, yes, yes._

His eyes bore into hers as he took himself in hand and his blunt hardness nudged at her entrance. He breached her slowly, carefully, and her hands clutched tightly to his back. 

The stretch burned, but sweet whispers against the shell of her ear allowed her to relax, and accommodate him. 

Sliding her hands down to the dimples in his lower back, she flexed her inner walls, a small test of a movement that sent a ripple of pleasure-pain through her entire body. She whimpered.

Sidney hissed through his teeth. “Charlotte… I need to-- let me move…”

She nodded, and gave another whimpering gasp as he began to roll his hips in measured pushes and pulls. Hot-and-cold sparks skittered up her spine. She arched her back, wondering at how good and strange it could feel as she captured her mouth with his. Their fingers tangled together above her head. The slow build began again, so different than with his mouth or fingers, and yet so familiar she let it rise and lap against her like a tidal wave.

She came with a sigh, not a shout, toes curling against his calves as he strained into her; soon after, he shuddered and spent inside of her, throbbing and burning hot. Seeing him lose control shot a spike of excitement through her center, and he gave a shuddering laugh against her throat before rolling away.

She turned to her side, head cradled by her arm, and he quickly matched her pose. They were nearly nose-to-nose.

Her hair was still a bit damp, and a glisten of sweat beaded Sidney’s brow. The edge of the bed was wet, and she was sure a puddle or two needed to be mopped from her quick exit from the bath. Distantly, she hoped the floorboards weren’t raining below. She felt satisfied beyond measure and happier than she’d ever been.

“Is it always like this?” she asked after a moment.

“With us? I hope so.” He brushed an errant lock of her hair back. “With others, however, I very much doubt it. Love matches are a rare beast indeed.”

Her breath caught. As much as she knew Sidney liked her, and wanted her, and enjoyed her company, she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking he _loved_ her. But he’d said the word. He’d implied he’d married her with love already in his heart, and not merely a dream of it on the distant horizon. Hope bloomed in her, a wild, fragile thing.

“I’m not afraid to be the first to say it,” he said. His hand curled into hers. “I love you, Charlotte.”

Tears burned her nose. “Say it again.”

He did.

“Well, that’s good. Very good.” She sniffed her tears back, determined to not become overwhelmed. “Just so you know, I am ridiculously happy. And I love you, too.”

“Very good.” His smile was teasing, and knowing. “For as long as I live, I will endeavor to make you the happiest person on earth.”

“And I you.”

And so they did.


End file.
